Page 52 of For a Goode Time Call…
I had told him I expected nothing in return, and I meant it. But god, how I hoped. I had never needed an orgasm so badly in all my life.
After a long silent moment, he climbed slowly to his feet, gathered his shorts and my shirt and bra, and extended a hand to me. Tugged me to my feet. Didn’t let go, but walked with me through the woods back toward his home. Naked in the woods, bathed in moonlight and cool air—my nipples stood achingly hard, diamond points, the cool air swirling over them. He moved with silent grace despite his size, leading me to the kitchen door, which was bathed in shadows. Led me inside. Tossed our clothing on the floor.
Used a wad of paper towel to clean himself with while I washed my hands.
Standing in silence, he just stared at me. Thinking.
“What, Ink? Say whatever it is you’re thinking.” I resisted the urge to cover my breasts with my arms, instead standing bold, bare. Wondering what he was thinking. How he felt about what had just happened.
“I know you said you didn’t want anything in return—”
“Ink, you don’t—“
He palmed the small of my back, tugged me up against him, his slack manhood pressed against my belly, residual stickiness tacky against my skin. I didn’t mind that—only wondered if maybe it meant we’d get to take a shower together. He stared down at me.
“I really hope you were tellin’ the truth when you said there wasn’t anything I could want that you wouldn’t give.”
“I was. God’s honest truth. I want it all. More than you can imagine.” My voice quavered, my own need getting the better of me, my legs shaking, knees pressed together, ache low in my belly growing as his hand descended to cup my backside.
“Still scared shitless of wanting too much,” he whispered. “Of just being too much.”
“I’m not scared, Ink.”
“Maybe you should be,” he murmured. “Not sure you understand what you just started.”
My grin was darkly amused, wildly aroused. “Show me what you mean, Ink. I dare you.”
Ink
Her eyes were wild. Alive with need. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so manic with sexual ferocity in my life.
I shouldn’t have been able to feel a thing, not after the way she’d just milked every last drop of seed out of me, especially after having gone once already by myself. But I had her half-naked in my hands, beautiful small pert firm breasts with those hypersensitive nipples pointed slightly upward, as if begging for my mouth. She’d given me a gift of such precious beauty that I doubted I could ever communicate its worth to her—somehow, what she’d just done had shown me that she was for real. That she truly did wantme. That she wasn’t afraid. That I could let go, a little bit, at least, and that I wouldn’t hurt her. I wasn’t “healed,” if there even was such a thing. I was still scared of hurting her, and an insidious little voice way down deep was still whispering poisonous thoughts—she’ll turn on you when you least expect it; she doesn’t REALLY want you; she’ll find a way to blame something on you, just wait, you’ll see; she has no idea what she’s asking for, thinking she can handle you; you’re going to hurt her, it’s what you do; she doesn’t really want you, she doesn’t really want you…
Her eyes told me a different story. Her blazing hazel eyes were greener than ever, green with a wildfire of fervent sexual arousal. Those eyes begged me to make her feel good. To show her how much I wanted her. How good she’d made me feel. I wanted to show her. To make her whimper, to see her arch that slender whipcord back with the sensual serpentine S of her spine, to watch her press those lush little tits to the sky and come apart for me. I wanted to devour her until she was a puddle of screams.
The raging power of my need toownher terrified me with its intensity. I couldn’t let her see that, couldn’t. It was too much, too deep, too wild, too big.
But the look in her eyes defied that fear.
Her eyes pleaded with me, begged with abject need for me to show her every bit of that berserk, frenzied desire, that testosterone-mad, rampaging alpha-dominant ownership.
“Ink?” Hesitancy in her voice. Wondering. A quiet question, a nudge.
Test her, a little?
She was standing pressed against me, breasts heaving with uncertain breaths, eyes wide, hands curled against my diaphragm like tender sparrows, fingers fluttering. She wore nothing but those tight red yoga pants. But I wanted her totally naked.
I wanted her screaming.
The crushing madness of my need to make her climax had me shuddering from the effort it took to hold back from just yanking her off her feet and holding her slit up against my mouth right here, right now, standing up.
She weighed so little I could hold her one-handed and use the other to slide a finger inside her.
I held absolutely still, or I’d do exactly that.
Her quivering thighs and wide eyes dared me to.
“What are you thinking, Ink?”
